


Pepperoni

by Hatteress (goddammitstacey)



Series: Failwolf Friday Fics [29]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Failwolf Friday, M/M, derek hale's tragic aversion to shirts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddammitstacey/pseuds/Hatteress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He probably got caught up practicing his scowls in the mirror or something, he'll get here."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pepperoni

**Author's Note:**

> "Wow, Derek's seriously late," Scott says. "Do you think there's anything wrong?"

Stiles shrugs, going for another slice of pepperoni because they're at Tony's and it's sacrilege to let a Tony's pizza get cold. "He probably got caught up practicing his scowls in the mirror or something, he'll get here."

Scott's eyebrows do their pinching thing, and it's a little tragic how far they've come that Scott is now properly concerned about Derek being half an hour late for pizza. "I dunno man, something's just- _oh_ -"

Stiles looks up, thumb still in his mouth because even the _grease_ here is good and follows Scott's look to the door where-

Where-

Stiles' brain kinda shorts out. A little. Okay, a lot.

Derek's def-con three scowl sweeps the restaurant before finding them and then there's like, _stalking_ which—okay—Derek does stalk places a lot but generally there's ah...

"Um, what happen-"

"Don't ask," Derek snarls, flinging himself into the seat across from Stiles. It's good. It means Stiles can focus on anything except the really fucking indecent gash in Derek's jeans that's just...yeah. Instead he can take in the last, forlorn scrap of shirt that's clinging to Derek's collar bone, like a drowning man to a life-raft.

"Your ah... your clothes-" Scott starts, only to shut up in the face of Derek's brick wall of a glare.

"I don't. Want. To talk about it."

"Right," Scott says, eyes flicking around the restaurant. The deadly quiet restaurant. Because everyone's looking at them.

"Where's the pepperoni?" Derek says.

Stiles sucks his thumb out of his mouth with an audible pop. "Um."

The look Derek levels at him makes the prey section of Stiles' brain whimper and try to meld him into the back of the bench. "I'll just order some more!" he says hastily, throwing his napkin halfway across the restaurant in his haste to flag down a waitress.


End file.
